


Mon Cueur Ne Changera, or The Missing Heir

by hhertzof



Category: Hilary Tamar Mysteries - Sarah Caudwell, Lost Prince - Frances Hodgson Burnett
Genre: Multi, Ruritanian
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-19
Updated: 2010-12-19
Packaged: 2017-10-13 19:24:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,309
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/140819
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hhertzof/pseuds/hhertzof
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>While researching a missing heir, something else comes to light at 62 New Square.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mon Cueur Ne Changera, or The Missing Heir

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lionpyh](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lionpyh/gifts).



Julia should have known better, but that was Julia for you. Number 62 New Square might have been more peaceful were she not around, but it would also be a tad colourless. Of her entanglements with both Ragwort and Cantrip I have spoken of before, but no one, including the other parties involved had any inkling of what was to come.

Contrary to all expectations, the renovations at 62 New Square had concluded. Belatedly, it is true, but the bookcases had been installed, the wiring completed, and the dust swept away. True they were still finding paint rags and carpenter's tools tucked in odd places, but that was an inevitable part of any renovation.

No sooner had peace returned to their Chambers, and all settled back into their usual routines, when among the assortment of Julia’s belongings that Ragwort had found tucked into the oddest places in his flat, he discovered a book. He must have looked at the ragged binding and assumed it was hers, as Julia had merely to enter his flat, going no further than the entryway, for him to find his books in the fridge and eggs precariously balanced on his windowsill. There was no doubt some exaggeration on his part, but one could not deny that Julia possessed an amazing talent for disorder.

In retrospect, it is inexplicable that he even allowed her into his flat. But love, they say, dares all things, even the ones that common sense would normally prevent, and I would hesitate to ascribe baser motives to the very proper Ragwort. Still, perhaps all would have been well if he had glanced through the book in the privacy of his flat, but he was too proper and too fastidious to look closely at the tatty volume before bringing it to Chambers with him the morning that my story begins.

I had once again felt the need to escape the Bursar and his irrational demands on my time. Despite numerous discussions, he still did not comprehend that my research was too important to defer for the upcoming Open Days, and so I had been obliged to discover a need to revisit the Public Record Office in London. Sadly, my former pupil Timothy had gone to Samavia on holiday, but he was not unamenable to my offer to flat-sit for him, and I knew that when the demands of scholarship grew too heavy, I could count on a warm welcome from his young colleagues at 62 New Square.

And so it was that one day in July, I wended my way to Chambers in hopes of coffee and conversation to refresh my mind after the arduous train journey the day before and a morning immersed in scholarship. There, forbearing to announce myself to Henry in the Clerks' Room, I climbed the bare stone steps to the second floor, more commonly known as the Nursery and knocked upon the door of the office shared by Ragwort and Cantrip.

"Languish locked in L," a triumphant voice replied.

Alarmed, I tentatively pushed the door open. The voice had been easily identifiable as Selena's and I could not help but wonder what Cantrip had done this time. Ragwort, I imagined, was unlikely to do anything to inspire that reaction. I was gratified to find that the three younger members of the Nursery were in residence-Ragwort and Cantrip at their desks-Selena comfortably ensconced in the huge leather armchair with her nose in a book.

"That Philippa's one magnificent bird," Cantrip was saying as I entered the room. "A sense of humour and trained in a harem. I did tell you about the harem, didn't I?" This to Ragwort. "Hello, Hilary. You should read these too. All about this chap in olden times who wanders around Europe fighting and w-sleeping with beautiful women.."

Cantrip means well, but being educated at Cambridge has left him with a curious idiom. Still, the description was surprisingly apt--if overly-focused on the elements that would appeal to the less refined palate. "I can assure you I'm well acquainted with the works of Dorothy Dunnett." It was obvious that he pictured himself as a modern day Lymond, and so I braced for the inevitable.

"I suppose you'd like them for the politics and historical stuff," Cantrip said in an apologetic tone. "D'you think that if we sent Julia to a harem, she'd come out as poised as Philippa did?"

"If we sent Julia to the seraglio, I'd fear for the seraglio," Selena replied, sparing me the need to do so. She tucked a bookmark in the book as she closed it with a snap. "It's good to see you again, Hilary."

After the requisite admiration of the now finished construction my young friends accepted my invitation to lunch with surprising alacrity. The Long Vacation had been slow, leaving the three Junior members of the Chambers with little to do beyond paperwork and grumbling at Henry's stricture that they not take off more than a fortnight each.

Whilst Cantrip called Julia, I established that she had been the one to discover the Lymond series and had persuaded first Cantrip and then Selena to read them, Ragwort being the lone holdout thus far. I also discovered that Selena had taken to referring to Ragwort as Austin Gray, to Cantrip's delight. I suspected that this would end the moment she reached the end of _Checkmate_ but forbore to spoil her.

* * *

We were already settled at our usual table at Guido's when Julia arrived. Once the water had been mopped up, the wine had been poured, and our orders had been taken, talk had turned to their current cases, such as they were.

I discovered that part of the reason that Selena and Cantrip had been so eager to take a nice long lunch away from Chambers was that they feared that upon completion of their current cases, they would suffer the same fate as Ragwort - to wit, the assignment of an unsolved case from the files. Ragwort, it seemed, was currently attempting to track down the heir to a will that should have been executed during the 1980s. "And why they couldn't have found the heir then, I don't know. I tried to convince them they needed a genealogical researcher, not a barrister, but Sir Basil was having none of it." He gave me a pained look so I attempted to commiserate.

"It's alright for you, Hilary, you like that sort of thing," Cantrip felt the need to explain, "but we're not you."

I ignored this. Sometimes one has to, when Cantrip is involved.

"Perhaps you could give me some advice on where to search next. The trail goes cold around 1915. Before that I have John Ratcliffe, his wife Mary, and son James. John Ratcliffe was disowned by his family for marrying beneath him." Ragwort grimaced. "They later wrote a letter claiming that his son's deformity was _only to be expected_ given his mother's low birth."

"Common at that time," Selena interjected, "but rather annoying from a practical standpoint."

"The trail doesn't end there," Ragwort continued, as if Selena hadn't interrupted. "He took a post as a schoolmaster, but lost it when the boy was four. At around the same time, his wife died and he and his son sunk into poverty. I have an obituary for John Ratcliffe, but that's where I've stalled. The boy disappeared right after his father's death--he would have been thirteen at the time. Given his disability, it's unlikely he ever married, but they need a death certificate before they can move on to the next in line."

Julia was staring at him oddly now. "I think I've heard this story before. Jem Ratcliffe?" She considered her wine for a moment. "It was in a book I loved when I was younger-- _Nothing Could Stop Them_ , I think , or something similar. All about people who made good despite their disabilities."

"Do you remember what he was supposed to be famous for?" Ragwort asked. "Not that it's likely to be the same person, but it's more than I had before."

"Restoring the monarchy to Samavia. I remember because I mentioned it to Timothy before he went on holiday. I tried to find him a copy, but it doesn't seem to be in print anymore. It was my mother's book," Julia added vaguely, "and I don't know what happened to it."

"But there's no longer a monarchy in Samavia. They became a democracy in the 40s," Selena pointed out.

Julia's disappointment was obvious, which led me to draw certain conclusions about the vintage of the book. Still, she soldiered on. "He did marry a Samavian noblewoman. I remember that from the book. Their daughter was named Anna and she married the crown prince," she finished triumphantly, nearly hitting the waiter as he approached with our lunches. Thankfully, he had experience with Julia's exuberance and enough grace to step back as she flung her arm out.

Once we were all served and our wine glasses refilled, Ragwort considered this new line of investigation, "So all I have to do is find the deposed monarch and/or his descendants and establish whether or not their ancestor is my client."

"You could telex Timothy," Cantrip offered. "I'm sure he'd help. Maybe someone there knows." He patted Ragwort on the back of the hand, an intimacy I would never have expected from either of them. When they noticed that I had noticed they both withdrew in an embarrassed fashion.

Discussion turned to more general topics, but I filed that incident in the back of my mind for later consideration.

* * *

After a lovely long lunch, we returned to 62 New Square en masse so that Julia could pick up the box that Ragwort had brought to Chambers. Slipping up the back way, so that Henry was unaware of the precise hour of our return, Cantrip headed straight for the telex, whilst Serena with a wistful look at the book she had left on the chair, observed Julia and Ragwort's _tête-à-tête_ with more than casual interest, whilst I was merely amused at the items that Julia was removing from the box. The gloves and umbrella, I could understand, but why she would have left unopened mail, a stuffed ostrich, a Latin dictionary and a monogrammed towel at Ragwort's flat, I might never know.

They were keeping their voices low, and neither Serena nor I was so impolite as to edge our way closer. Cantrip was merely oblivious, caught up in his adoration of the telex machine. Still, no one was prepared for Julia's shout of joy.

"That's it." She was waving a book around. "I couldn't figure out what I did with it. I knew I'd found it to give to Timothy. Ragwort's had it all this time"

Ragwort pursed his mouth at the implied accusation.

The book was battered and brown and slightly stained with the remains of meals long past, the dust jacket long since vanished and as Julia flipped through the pages a photograph dropped to the floor, unnoticed by either Ragwort or Julia. Selena and I both knelt down at the same time to pick it up. She got there first, absently turning it over, giving me a good look at it in the process.

In the interests of Scholarship, I must admit that the sound I made was somewhat undignified, but it was nothing to Selena's reaction--an explosive chuckle that made both Ragwort and Julia look down at us.

Striving to regain our composure, Selena and I stood, though she did not offer to relinquish the picture.

"Not until you tell me how long this has been going on," Selena said, with her most honeyed voice. _This_ being a picture of Ragwort, Julia--and Cantrip in a state most commonly referred to as _en dishabille_ , or as Cantrip would describe it, not wearing much of anything.

Ragwort's distress was obvious, but Julia calmly said "a fortnight", and retrieved the picture from Selena's grasp, somehow managing not to rip it in the process.

"What's been going on?" Cantrip asked as he returned from the telex, obviously pleased with himself.

"You and him and her," Selena replied slightly incoherently.

"Oh, that. Yes, a fortnight," Cantrip confirmed absently. "Why?" If he was attempting to discomfit Ragwort, he was doing a very good job of it.

Ragwort was so tense at this point, Selena finally relented. Reaching over, she squeezed his shoulder, saying calmly, "Oh, dear. They don't quite know what they're doing to you, do they? Perhaps some brandy would be in order, Hilary."

It was, perhaps, a tad early, but there were _circumstances_.

She led him to the armchair, to Julia and Cantrip's barely controlled amusement, and sat him down gently. "Here, have _The Game of Kings_. Nothing they're doing to you is worse than what happens to Francis Crawford of Lymond."

I said not a word.

* * *

Life goes on as it always does at 62 New Square. Julia's book proved surprisingly helpful to Ragwort, though Selena told me in confidence that he wouldn't even open it without gloves, and Jem Ratcliffe was located on a farm in Samavia, owned by his great-granddaughter where he spent his days with his bosom friend Marco Loristan telling his stories to anyone who would listen. He donated his entire inheritance to Children in Need saying that he was past needing it, but there were children who still did.

Ragwort still flinches whenever someone refers to his relationship with Julia and Cantrip, and so they refer to it often. And yet, Selena informs me that he is starting to unbend a little, though whether this is due to a steady dosage of Dunnett or his current entanglement is not completely clear. He has, however, learnt to inspect Julia's belongings before returning them to her in public places.

**Author's Note:**

> Alas, for the premise to work, Marco and the Rat needed to be married (and not to each other). :/


End file.
